


An Intolerable Yearning

by Percygranger



Series: Cat Person Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cat/Human Hybrids, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Relationship Discussions, Sex Pollen, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: Sherlock gets a bit 'nippy on a case.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: Cat Person Sherlock [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756162
Kudos: 9





	An Intolerable Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2014

John knew it was bad the moment Sherlock tensed up. That particular arch of his back, the angle of his ears, the low straight line of his tail, all spelled very bad things. Spelled out exactly how much they were fucked. 

And they were, almost literally.

They’d been tracking a ring of drug traffickers who had little compunction about killing those in their way, but who apparently had someone creative in the ranks. Creative enough to disguise the murders, throw off the police for several days, and intrigue Sherlock when they called him in. 

John, of course, had followed, gun in its usual comforting spot at the small of his back. Too bad guns did nothing against drugs. Specialized drugs for the feline-inclined, in fact. 

They’d tracked the men down to a warehouse, and Sherlock had dived in without waiting for backup. John didn’t know why he was still surprised at that. Even expecting it, the tendency was damn annoying.

John had managed to avoid the homemade smoke bombs by dint of simply not being there, but Sherlock had caught the brunt of the attack, sneezing as the packets exploded. They’d kept chasing, at least until Sherlock stumbled to a halt, breathing hard, and leaned against one not-particularly-clean wall.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” John had been following, and turned back, thinking Sherlock had been hurt.

“Laced catnip,” Sherlock said, voice overly calm, and sliding into a slur the longer he spoke, “effects similar to marijuana and viagra, acting on cat persons’ latent heat impulse. You should call Mycroft and run, John.” 

“Like hell I’m leaving you like this,” John retorted, “They might come back! And you’re hardly able to protect yourself in heat.” 

Sherlock pushed off the wall and bared his teeth, the tips gleaming in the light. “I most certainly can defend myself.” 

“But will you want to?” John countered, “And what happens to the poor bloke who stumbles on you and just tries to help? Nope, not leaving this to chance. I’ll call Mycroft, but I am staying with you.”

Sherlock screwed his face up to protest but John cut him off with a gesture, pulling out his phone with the other hand. The call was a perfunctory affair. “Sherlock’s been drugged. Laced catnip. We’re at the corner of Willow and Lyle. Yes, 

be here. Fuck off.” John pushed the disconnect button firmly, and turned back to Sherlock, motion crisp. 

“You’re an idiot,” Sherlock said, not quite managing his usual tone, the casual flippancy replaced by labored annoyance, “You stay here, and there’s a high chance I will jump you once this really kicks in.” He shook his head like a dog shaking off water, and staggered. John moved to catch him, but Sherlock managed to find the wall, and leaned again.

“I know,” John said steadily, “hopefully it won’t come to that, but that’s a better option than all the rest. How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Sherlock retorted, sliding down the wall a few inches. 

“Liar.” There was a hint of affection in John’s tone, quickly replaced by concern as Sherlock slid all the way down, landing on his arse. “Woah now!” He moved forward, only to stop, hands hovering before they made contact. “Seriously, status report, 

.”

Sherlock blinked, the motion exaggerated and slow, head swaying back and forth. “I think I inhaled more of it than I thought.” He reached up, finger zeroing in on John’s nose. “I’ve always liked your nostrils, John, they’re well-shaped and very dependable.” 

John jerked back before Sherlock touched him. “Shit. You’re high as kite. Okay, okay. Stay calm, stay here, wait for Mycroft. We can do that, right, Sherlock?” John finished his litany with a plaintive question. 

“Of course we can,” Sherlock replied, face comically serious, “but why would we want to?” He started struggling to his feet. “There’s food out there, and soft beds, and our flat, and bad guys, and-” Managing to stand, he started walking in the direction they’d come from. “Let’s go home, John, and have really awesome sex.” He nodded, smiling.

John opened and closed his mouth a few times, but finally settled on, “Home is a great idea, Sherlock.” 

“Of course it is! I made it.” Sherlock looked back at John, who was following a careful five paces back, out of arm’s reach. “You don’t have good ideas, but you help me think up better ones. Isn’t it strange how idiocy can create genius?”

John rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course.” 

“I am a genius!” Sherlock crowed, “And a fantastic lover, John, you just wait and see.” 

John, who had dearly tried to avoid thinking about having sex with Sherlock, can’t help the images in his head now. “I’m...sure,” he managed, faintly. His face felt too hot. 

Thankfully, at this point, a dark, sleek car rolled up beside them. “I do believe my brother is in need of assistance?” Mycroft said, exiting the vehicle, two burly men in dark suits curving off to bracket Sherlock.

John grimaced. “Right, he’s all yours.” 

“John! Who are these people? John! I need you!” Sherlock hissed and spat as he was surrounded, low angry growling noises rising to piercing shrieks as the two men manhandled him into the car.

John winced, looking away. “Thanks, I guess.” 

Mycroft inclined his head. “Although that was an incredibly stupid thing to do, your staying with him is appreciated. Another car will be arriving shortly.”

John pinched out a parody of a smile, head jerking to an angle, as Mycroft re-entered the car, Sherlock’s struggles abruptly rising in volume before Mycroft closed the door again.

“Shit,” John swore, watching the car leave. He hoped he’d done the right thing. The next car took him home, where he waited the next twelve hours with a ball of tension in his gut. 

Sherlock returned the next day, looking no worse for wear. John felt his worry dissolve into relief tinged with nervousness. 

“You better?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock said, laconic, zeroing in on his violin, “Mycroft’s people locked me up until the drug wore off.”

“Nobody…” John didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“Took advantage? No-one would dare. I doubt anyone would want to, either. Mycroft’s people know who I am. The benefits of surveillance.” 

John grunted, made some tea, and listened to Sherlock play. For once, it was a song. Surprisingly cheerful, with a hint of longing. It was beautiful. 

Sherlock finished, stilling after the last, drawn out note. “Now, we need to talk about how you find me attractive.”

John felt the calm stillness of adrenaline steal over his limbs. “Right. What makes you think that.”

Sherlock grinned, self-deprecating, and tapped his nose. “I may have been high at the time, but I’m quite good at understanding what I sense.” 

John sighed. “And?” 

“And what?” Sherlock looked confused.

“And you know. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not gay.” 

“No, you’re bisexual or pansexual or omnisexual, whatever.” Sherlock dismissed that conversational gambit with a wave of his hand. “I’m mostly asexual, barring heats, and, I’ve come to realize, close friends.” He stared at John intently. 

John closed his eyes and prayed for strength. “I’m your only close friend, Sherlock. What are you saying?”

“I’ve thought you were attractive for two weeks now, and blamed it on the start of heat. Imagine my surprise when it didn’t come.” Sherlock leaned forward. “Worse yet, the false heat I went through last night only made it more intense.”

“Sherlock, when I say I’m not gay, I mean I don’t want to date men.”

“Who’s dating?” Sherlock’s lip curled. “We live together, John, we’re more a civil partnership than anything.” 

John opened his mouth, closed it again. “We are not married, Sherlock. Unless you or your brother did something idiotic and illegal.” He pinned Sherlock with a sharp look. “You didn’t, did you?” The displeasure he felt at that idea carried into his tone. 

Sherlock looked insulted. “Of course not. I’d much rather you sign the document yourself. For now, all I’m suggesting is that, having discovered a mutual attraction, I spend my heats with you.”

“You’re propositioning me?” John wasn’t sure if he was keeping up, the conversation seemed to be running in circles. 

“Exactly!” Sherlock leaned back, smiling. “We have chemistry, and I find locking myself up for several days a month annoying. This would seem to be an excellent solution, no?” 

John scrubbed his face in his hand. “I...no?” 

“You could keep dating your moronic girlfriends in the meantime, of course. I have no interest in 

.” Sherlock shuddered dramatically. 

“Stop. Slow down. Let me get this straight. You want to be fuck buddies. When you don’t like sex.”

“I like sex just fine, John, it’s finding someone I enjoy it with is the issue. And having discovered that, apparently, a long term friendship triggers attraction, I see no reason not to explore it.”

John dragged a hand down his face. “I...maybe we could try it, your next heat,” He cuts Sherlock off from responding, “I am making no promises! If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, and we don’t talk about it again.” 

“Oh, but it will!” Sherlock danced merrily around the living room, there was really no other way to describe it. “You’ll see, John.” 


End file.
